Anjelina Anjel
Bio
I’m that woman who looks at life through the lens of a kaleidoscopic- something euphoric is always underway when you allow the universe to guide you as it molds you into a magnificent sphere of possibilities. Live through the spectrum❤️
Stories (3/0)
An Albino Named Gus
The Jane Adam’s housing project bustled with children at play. I was one of those children who stayed out until the fireflies joined the party. I’d run off through the concrete animal court-with oversized cement figures of elephants, hippos and tigers smiling nonchalantly as we played tag; running and hiding behind them. Their paint was chipped and discolored from the wineO’s putting their cigarette butt’s out on them. We didn’t care tho. We would giggle and pick at stale old wads of gum stuck to their noses or hindsides. Those were the good ole days. I can still taste the flavor of mint and malt liquor. We’d put our lives in danger spinning on rusted metal merry-go-rounds that I’m certain had several screws loose and jagged sharp edges that would require a tetanus and isolation for a month if we got so much as a skin tear. Any time it rained, it flooded. The concrete jungle looked like a scene out of an end of the world movie. Smog from the gutters and back yard barbecues would choke a horse; a real horse tho, not the one with the painted on smile with “ Ricky loves Donna” sharpied across it’s top molars. I loved when it rained. I’d dress my little brother in his rain coat and boots; grab a paper bag my dad had lying on the kitchen table from his can of Pepsi and fill it with Cheerios and raisins and we’d be off. Gone.
By Anjelina Anjelabout a year ago in Wander
An Albino Named Gus
The Jane Adam’s housing project bustled with children at play. I was one of those children who stayed out until the fireflies joined the party. I’d run off through the concrete animal court-with oversized cement figures of elephants, hippos and tigers smiled nonchalantly as we played tag; running and hiding behind them. Their paint was chipped and discolored from the wineO’s putting their cigarette butt’s out on them. We didn’t care tho. We would giggle and pick at stale old wads of gum such to their noses or hindsides. Those were the good ole days. I can still taste the flavor of mint and malt liquor. We’d put our lives in danger spinning on rusted metal merry-go-rounds that I’m certain had several screws loose and jagged sharp edges that would require a tetanus and isolation for a month if we got so much as a skin tear. Any time it rained, it flooded. The concrete jungle would look like a scene out of an end of the world movie. Smog from the gutters and back yard barbecues would choke a horse; a real horse tho, not the one with the painted on smile with “ Ricky loves Donna” sharpied across it’s top molars. I loved when it rained. I’d dress my little brother in his rain coat and boots; grab a paper bag my dad had lying on the kitchen table from his can of Pepsi and fill it with Cheerios and raisins and we’d be off. Gone.
By Anjelina Anjelabout a year ago in Fiction
